Making the Best
by Singerdiva01
Summary: Drabble. Bill is slowly learning how to control his protective urges in order to best take care of his powerful lover. Set sometimes after Crossroads I and Six of One. A/R.


"So there's no chance of repairing it?" President Laura Roslin didn't look up at the Admiral, busy with wringing out the little bag she'd just rescued from the cup of tea on the kitchen table in front of her.

"No. _Carnythia_ is over thirty years old and we just don't have the parts. We don't do something soon, we'll lose her in a jump." The Admiral maneuvered his way around Laura to get to the hot water on the stove, smiling behind her at the still wet red tendrils snaking down her back. He liked having her in his quarters as long as he didn't think too hard about why she'd taken up residence here. He even liked these little off hours conversations that neither of them could seem to avoid initiating.

"Seven hundred souls," she pondered aloud, her portion of the weight of their shared responsibility evident in her tone. "Alright, have Captain Jensen send Tory the passenger manifest and we'll start mapping out reallocation. I'll need…" She paused suddenly before lifting one hand to her temple and removing her glasses with the other. A small gasp passed her lips.

Bill, who had moved back to the other side of the table to start ordering files into a neat stack, watched her carefully. A month ago he would have been immediately at Laura's side, ushering her into a chair and effectively ending the conversation. Now, however, he'd become an expert in her physical pain and he'd come to understand how his reactions to it contributed to the emotional suffering that wasn't as fleeting.

This, he could tell, was one of those flashes that shot through her head and left her off balance. Most of the time she recovered quickly and picked up where she left off. Other times the sensation made her dizzy.

He knew it was the latter when she put her hand down on the table and grasped the edge of the wood tightly. He calmly put down his files and walked the few steps to her side, taking the arm not clutching the table into both his hands. Eyes still closed, the president untangled his hands from her arm and placed it instead around his waist before leaning into his weight and resting her head lightly onto his shoulder.

"Deep breaths," he whispered into her hair as he subtly maneuvered his body to rub gentle, soothing patterns on her back. She took his advice and in less than a minute he heard her breathing even out and felt her body regaining its strength against his own. He waited a few more beats before pulling away but remained close enough to provide support if she needed it.

Laura opened her eyes and shot the Admiral a questioning look. She'd grown so used to Bill's overreactions to her failing health that she almost didn't know what to do with this new, and wonderfully welcome, change in tact.

"I'll have Dee send your office the passenger manifests. What else do you need?" The Admiral's voice was casual, as if they'd been interrupted by a phone call or errant aide rather than the president almost fainting in the middle of the conversation.

Laura turned her head, blinking back tears. He trusted her. Bill Adama trusted her to do her job even as her body slowly attacked itself from the inside. She thanked the Gods once again, paradoxically, for allowing her the learning of this aspect of love. Bill trusted her and daily, now, gave her the ability to trust herself.

Her voice was strong when she found it. "Captain Jansen will be the fourth civilian pilot we have without a ship. I've been thinking of mapping up a rotation schedule for those four to relieve the other fleet pilots for a few days of R&R."

Bill nodded as he moved from the president's side to once again focus his attention of the stack of reports on the other side of the table.

"Alright. I like that idea. I'll have Dee pencil that item onto the agenda for our next meeting," he said, glancing up at the clock.

"Tory will be here in a few minutes," the president said. She lifted the now cool enough to drink tea from its surface and took a long gulp.

"And I have to be in CIC in five minutes." Bill fastened the top button of his uniform before picking up the piles of neatly organized paper. He took the few steps to the other side of the table and pulled his political counterpart into a gentle embrace.

He held Laura for a few moments before pulling back and planting a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"Have a productive day, President Roslin," he whispered as he pulled back and headed toward the door.

Laura smiled at his retreating form. "You too, Admiral. And please tell Colonel Tigh that if he's drunk for our meeting this afternoon I'll have his balls this time."

Bill's only response was a grunt as the President of the Twelve Colonies heard the hatch slam.

Laura Roslin found herself smiling as she hunted down the jacket she'd thrown somewhere in her haste to "meet" with the Admiral the night before. She found it behind the couch and jerked it over her shoulders.

This, dying of cancer in the quarters of the last remaining commander of the last remaining battlestar, was not how she'd ever imagined her happily ever after would go. Yet, in this moment, it was the best thing she could have ever possibly hoped for.


End file.
